


Origins - Elena

by etherian



Series: The Dark Ones [8]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Erotica, F/M, Ghosts, Paranormal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 16:34:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4399316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etherian/pseuds/etherian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elena did have parents...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Origins - Elena

The right Reverend Matthew Souter was not a _"right reverend"_.

When his Nellie Ann was alive he was a man to be idolised. His faith was strong, and he was not one of those Anglican ministers that tended to go on about his beliefs beyond the walls of the church. Nellie Ann was from a prominent family with blood that traced back to the 1600s. Nellie Ann was always proud to mention that her cousin had married one of the King's cousins.

Matthew did not recall the names of the cousins, nor the name of the King.

Nellie Ann was taken early in the night by a sudden illness that filled her lungs with fluid, and constricted her breathing passages. She died drowning in a dry bed fighting her own husband for one last precious breath of air. This was just at the turn of the 19th century when medicine was still herbs, potions, and generous letting of humour-filled blood.

Matthew lost his faith... his belief in a strict but benevolent God... when Nellie Ann died that night. He left London and moved into the wild depths of Cokeworth. A village of scattered mud and daub huts its only building of worth was the empty manor that boasted no name; not even the name of the family that once owned it.

Matthew took the manor as his; he had gold to spare (his wife's) and it did not seem strange to him to ramble about within the echoing walls of a three-story manse that likely boasted a few ghosts.

The ghosts of the manor were generally quiet but Matthew would be wakened late at night to the sounds of a string quartet playing and the murmur of more than one guest as all of them danced and mingled in the ballroom that took up the entire third floor.

Usually his curiosity was lacking, and the drink he had effected since his Nellie Ann passed were more to his attention than a bunch of intruding ghosts. Still, the ball persisted, and Matthew, not entirely sure of his actions, dressed in his best suit, his silver buckle shoes, and velvet to tie back his long, blond hair. He then strode up the stairs to the ballroom and was treated to a time gone at least a century.

The ballroom was hung with three chandelier glistening with candles that gave the air a pleasant aroma of beeswax. Pillars, eight in all, rose to the high ceiling carved in the Rococo of the day and each illustrated with bright paintings of dancers dancing, hunting, picnicking, walking in the garden; all the civilised activities of the well-to-do. The walls were warm with reflective mirrors of thin Mica, Italian wainscotting, and satin wallpaper in soft gold and cream stripes. The floor was black and white marble of polished, diamond shaped tiles.

To add to the beauty of the ballroom were men in their tailored suits, and powdered wigs, and ladies dressed in bell-like gowns of satin, lace, and silk in all the colours of the rainbow.

Matthew watched the ghosts of a century past dance across his field of vision, and he felt all his grief fading away from his body. Long after he was certain it was midnight, and still as black as pitch outside, a hand had graciously slipped upon his arm. Turning, he looked into beautiful and sultry gaze of a goddess. Her hair was not a wig but her own black curls piled upon her head with tendrils that fell gracefully to brush her pale shoulders. The corset of her emerald green dress was tight and temptingly full of her lush bosom. His eyes were drawn downward to the daintiest pair of feet that were daringly bare of slippers. A quick glance towards some of the other ladies showed Matthew that this woman with the dark blue eyes upon him was the only one free of satin dancing slippers.

"I am so very pleased our music finally tempted you away from your drink, Matthew," she smiled as she drew him into the ballroom. Dancers gracefully parted; women curtsied, and men nodded in respect towards the woman.

After three dances, a gavotte, a minuet, and a decadent waltz in which the lovely woman's close pressed body stirred a part of Matthew he thought had died with his Nellie Ann, the woman steered him over to a small round table, and plied him with a deep red glass of wine.

"You are a very talented dancer, Matthew," she smiled as she sipped at her wine.

"It is not so difficult when one has a partner of equal skill." Matthew leaned forward and lay his hand upon his companion's slim fingers. "I should wonder that you know my name but find I would much rather know yours."

"For a kiss?" she inquired alluringly.

Matthew felt his heart beat sharply in his chest as her fingers wove within his own. He was unaware of the lords and ladies, so long a lively and solid presence to him, fading to their silvery, ghostly forms.

"A kiss would I gladly bestow simply because my desire for you warms my blood," he rasped arduously.

"More, then?" her voice dropped into the realms of wickedness and sin. Before Matthew realised it the woman was firmly seated upon his lap. His hands began modestly around her waist but a fire of ice had captured him and his hands strayed lewdly to thigh, and to the plushness that peeked temptingly from her corset. She placed her hand over his to cover her breast as she caught his gaze with her own. "I want a daughter, Matthew, with you. Shall you give her to me?"

Matthew watched as she moved his hand from her breast to her waist. He felt himself harden like never before as his eyes saw her belly round with the life of his seed.

Wicked! cried his old beliefs. She is the devil! warned his own voice from the pulpit he had abandoned. In defiance he took her chin harshly and pressed his lips to hers. Touching his tongue to her lips they parted as she would open body to him. He thrust his tongue into her mouth and tasted the fiery remains of that dark red wine.

Never did it register as Matthew slid into her warm depths that now they were in his bed as naked as the first Man and Woman. She was his as he was hers and he thrust ever deeper to stake his claim. Never would he ever seek a wife for she lay beneath him, moaning his name, scratching her fingers down his back. He took her mouth as fully as her took her heat into his own. He bit his lip as never he had so violated his prim Nellie Ann.

As the coppery taste of her blood settled upon his tongue she rose up, pushed him over and onto his back. Astride him his goddess rode upon his hardness as a rider would her horse. Her back arched with pleasure and Matthew's hands filled with the bounty of her flesh.

When he cried to gods dead and not yet born Matthew's seed was life itself within the mystery of his lover. She bore down in her ecstasy and as she fell forward, her breast to his chest, she whispered her name into his ear.

Matthew woke to the harsh glare of the sun the next morning. His body felt worn out and he wondered at the scratches and bruises that resembled small hands. He had been abused, frighteningly so, but in a most pleasurable way. Looking down at his bed he wished she were there but she was gone. His heart ached knowing that never would he ever feel her arms about him... never would he find such blessing in her sin again.

* * *

 

Months passed and though Matthew thought often of his lover but he did not pine for her. He cleaned up the manor he had left neglected in his grief for Nellie Ann. He made his presence known to the people of Cokeworth and it was not long before it was known he was a Minister. Cokeworth had need of his grace, and even though Matthew's beliefs had changed, his faith had accepted a mystery greater than the God he had been born to, he ministered heart and soul to those that accepted him into their lives.

It was a late Sunday afternoon, his belly full of Widow Gwinn's meat pie, that he was greeted by a small parcel upon the wide porch of his manor. Swaddled in a blanket of downy white lay his daughter, created nine months to the day before. He picked up the babe, caressed the soft, black hair so like her mother's curls, and kissed his child's cheek.

"You are my heart and my soul," Matthew whispered gently. "You are the light in my life, the blessing I never knew I wanted... so desperately. I give to you your own mother's name so neither of us shall ever forget her. Welcome, Elena. Welcome."


End file.
